The Surgeon
by scarlet-oneil
Summary: SG1 go on a routine mission. But after an incident with the puddle jumper they are transported back in time to 1980's Boston, where a serial killer is on the lose and is chasing women who have been raped. Sam is next on his list. RnR please :
1. Chapter 1

**Title- **The Surgeon  
**Author-** Captain PJ  
**E-Mail-** S/J, Catherine Cordell/Thomas Moore

**Season:** Crossover from Stargate and book by Tess Gerritsen called "The Surgeon"

**Category-** Angst People... Die Hard Angst. Contains bloody details.

**Series/Sequel-** No sequel that I am considering at the minute, but can be a series full of chapters.

**Rating-** Suitable for 16 years and older due to heavy details about dissection and medical terms and crime scenes.

**Content Warning-** Medical language with strong language by characters  
**Spoilers-** None Sadly**  
****Disclaimer-** Stargate SG1 is owned by MGM and all the other people who do own it and I cant remember their names. All the writing that is taken for the crossover is all the property of Tess Gerritsen. She has written about all the characters and I don't intend to use it for any other purpose but to entertain my friends with this fan fiction. SO PLEASE DON'T SUE ME!

**Authors note:** My fourth fiction (excluding the pad fic for Jack and Sam's pad). It has been in the making for past four months. But my laptop was broken for two and since exams and school life had taken over, it's been hard to write. But now since I have my holidays, I think I will write the whole lot up. So hope you like this fic.

Prologue 

_Today they will find her body._

_I know how it will happen. I can picture, quite vividly, the sequence of events that will lead to the discovery. By nine o'clock, those snooty ladies at the Kendall and Lord travel agency will be sitting at their desks, their elegantly manicured fingers tapping at the computer keyboards, booking a Mediterranean cruise for Mrs Smith, a ski vacation at Klosters for Mr Jones. And for Mr and Mrs Brown, something different this year, something exotic, perhaps Chiang Mai or Madagascar, but nothing too rugged; oh no, adventure must above all be comfortable. That is the motto at Kendall And Lord: 'Comfortable adventures.' It is a busy agency, and the phone rings often._

_It will not take long for the ladies to notice that Diana is not at her desk._

_One of them will call Diana's Back Bay residence, but the phone will ring, unanswered. Maybe Diana is in the shower and can't hear the phone. Or she has already left for work but is running late. A dozen perfectly benign possibilities will run through the caller's mind. But as the day wears on, and repeated calls go unanswered, other more disturbing possibilities will come to mind._

_I expect it's the building superintendent who will let Diana's coworker into the apartment. I see him nervously rattling his keys as he says, 'You're her friend right? You sure she won't mind? 'Cause I'm gonna have to tell her I let you in.'_

_They walk into the apartment and the coworker calls out: 'Diana? Are you home?' They start up the hall, past the elegantly framed travel posters, the superintendent right behind her, watching that she doesn't steal anything._

_Then he looks through the doorway into the bedroom. He sees Diana Sterling, and he is no longer worried about something as inconsequential as theft. He wants only to get out of the apartment before he throws up._

_I would like to be there when the police arrive, but I am not stupid. I know they will study every car that creeps by, every face that stares from the gathering of spectators. They know my urge to return is strong. Even now as I sit in Starbucks, watching the day brighten outside the window, I feel that room calling me back. But I am like Ulysses, safely lashed to my ship's mast, yearning for the sirens' song. I will not dash myself against the rocks. I will not make that same mistake._

_Instead I sit here and drink my coffee while, outside the city of Boston comes awake. I stir three teaspoons of sugar into my cup; I like my coffee sweet. I like everything to be just so. To be perfect._

_A siren screams in the distance, calling to me. I feel like Ulysses straining against the ropes but they hold fast._

_Today they will find her body. Today they will know we are back._

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note:** well here goes chapter one. It's gonna sound a bit bland so I apologise for that. But as it progresses, I hope to make it interesting as possible. And this isn't beta'd so all mistakes are mine

Chapter One 

"Receiving Iris code sir"

"Who is it?"

"Its SG1 sir and their coming in hot!"

"Open the iris"

_**Staff blasts and lots of shooting noises. Sam is dragging Daniel and Jack and Teal'c guarding them**_

"Close the iris now!" Hammond yelled at Siler.

"I thought u said they were friendly natives Daniel." Jack mumbled as he handed his weapons to the airman.

"Well Jack if u didn't say that the chief's daughter was ugly none of this would have happened!" Daniel retorted having a scowl on his face.

"SG1 get your medical done and freshen up. Debriefing in one hour." Hammond yelled down the microphone to stop the bickering.

TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the Stargate SG1 material. I also do not own any details by the book "The Surgeon" by Tess Gerritsen.

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your reviews. Sorry about the delay of the third chapter, been busy with work and my computer has been down recently. I had to cut a few lines short so that this chapter wouldn't be too long winded to read. And thank you all for the reviews. Also... most of this chapter is the extract from the book. So here's Chapter 3. Enjoy.

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Detective Thomas Moore disliked the smell of latex, and as he snapped on the gloves, releasing a puff of talcum, he felt the usual twinge of anticipatory nausea. The odour was linked to the most unpleasant aspect of his job.

He was already garbed up in a surgical gown. He walked into the autopsy room, straight from the heat and he felt the sweat chill on his skin. It was July 12, a humid and hazy Friday afternoon.

He put his paper cap on to catch any stray hairs and pulled paper booties over his shoes, because he had seen what sometimes spilled from the table onto the floor. The blood, clumps of tissue. He was by no means a tidy man, but he had no wish to bring any trace of the autopsy room home on his shoes. He paused for a few seconds outside the door and took a deep breath. Then resigning himself to the ordeal, he pushed into the room.

Dr Ashford Tierney, the ME, and a morgue attendant were assembling instruments on a tray. Across the morgue table stood Jane Rizzoli, also from Boston Homicide Unit. Thirty-three years old, Rizzoli was a small and square jawed woman. She had transferred to Homicide from Vice and Narcotics six months ago. She was the only woman in the homicide unit, and already there were problems between her and another detective with charges of sexual harassment, counter charges of unrelenting bitchiness.

Standing beside her was her partner Barry Frost, a relentlessly cheerful cop whose bland and beardless face made him seem much younger than his thirty years. Frost had worked with Rizzoli for two months now without complaint, the only man in the unit placid enough to endure her foul moods.

As Moore approached the table, Rizzoli said, "We wondered when you'd show up"

"I was on the Marine Turnpike when you beeped me."

"We've been waiting here since five"

"And I'm just starting the internal exam," Dr Tierney said, "so I'd say Detective Moore has arrived just in time." One man coming to the defence of another. He slammed the cabinet door shut. He did not enjoy working with the prickly Jane Rizzoli

"Sorry about your fishing trip," Tierney said to Moore. "It looks like your vacation's cancelled"

"You sure its our boy again?"

"Her name is Elena Ortiz"

Though Moore had been braced for this sight his first glimpse of the victim had an impact of a physical blow. The woman's black hair, matted stiff with blood, stuck out like porcupine quills from a face the colour of blue-veined marble. Her lips were parted, as though frozen in mid utterance. The blood had already been washed off her body and her wounds gaped in purplish rents on the grey canvas of her skin. There were two visible wounds. One was a deep slash across the throat extending from beneath the left ear, transecting the left carotid artery, and laying open the laryngeal cartilage. The coupe de grace. The second slash was low on the abdomen. This wound wasn't meant to kill; it served an entirely different purpose.

Moore swallowed hard. "I see why you called me back from my vacation"

"I'm the lead on this one." Said Rizzoli.

He heard the note of warning in her statement; she was protecting her turf. He understood where she came from, how the constant taunts and scepticism those women cops faced could make them quick to take offence.

"Could you fill me on the circumstances?"

Rizzoli nodded, "The victim was found at nine this morning, in her apartment at Worcester Street, in the South End. She usually gets to work around six a.m. at Celebration Florists, a few blocks from her residence. It's a family business, owned by her parents. When she didn't show up they got worried. Her brother went to check up on her. He found her in her bedroom. Dr. Tierney estimates time of death was somewhere between midnight and four this morning. According to her family, she had no current boyfriend, and no one in her apartment building recalls seeing any male visitors. She's just another hard working Catholic girl."

Moore looked at the victim's wrists. "She was immobilized."

"Yes with Duct Tape on the wrists and ankles. She was found nude. Wearing only a few items of jewellery."

"What jewellery?"

"A necklace. A ring. Ear Studs. The jewellery box was untouched in the bedroom. Robbery wasn't the motive."

Moore looked at the horizontal band of bruises across the victim's hips. "The torso was immobilized as well."

"Duct Tape across the waist and upper thighs. And across her mouth"

Moore released a deep breath. "Jesus." Staring at Elena Ortiz, Moore had a disorientating flashback of another young woman. Another corpse – a blond, with meat-red slashes across her throat and abdomen.

"Diana Sterling", he murmured.

Tierney directed their attention to the wound. "What we have here is a transverse cut. Surgeons call it the Maryland incision. The abdominal wall was incised layer by layer. First the skin, then the superficial fascia, then the muscle and finally the pelvic peritoneum."

"Like Sterling"

"Yes but there are differences"

"What differences?"

On Diana Sterling, there were a few jags in the incision, indicating hesitation or uncertainty. You don't see that here. Notice how cleanly this skin has been incised? There are no jags at all. He did it with absolute confidence. Our unsub is learning. He's improved his technique."

"If it is the same unknown subject" Rizzoli said.

There are other similarities. See the squared off margin at the end of this wound? It indicates the track moves from right to left. Like Sterling. The blade used in this would is a single edged, non-serrated. Like a blade used on Sterling."

"A scalpel?"

"Its consistent with a scalpel. The clean incision tells me there was no twisting of the blade. The victim was either unconscious, or so tightly restrained that she couldn't move. She couldn't cause the blade to divert from its linear path"

Barry Frost looked like he wanted to throw up "Aww jeez please tell me she was dead when he did this"

"I'm afraid this isn't a post mortem wound." Only Tierney's green eyes showed about the surgical mask, and they were angry.

"There was ante-mortem bleeding?" asked Moore.

"Pooling in the pelvic cavity. Which means her heart was still pumping when this… procedure was done."

"Put your hands inside the wound Thomas. I think you know what you are going to find out"

Reluctantly Moore inserted his gloved hand into the wound. The flesh was cool, chilled from the several hours of refrigeration.

"The uterus is missing!" Moore looked at Tierney

The ME nodded "It has been removed"

Moore removed his hand from the wound and stared at the body. Now Rizzoli thrust her gloved hand in, her short fingers straining to explore the cavity.

"Nothing else was removed?" she asked.

"Just the uterus," said Tierney. "He left the bladder and bowel intact."

"What's this thing I'm feeling here? This hard little knot on the left side?" she said.

"It's a suture. He used it to tie off blood vessels."

Rizzoli looked up, startled "This is a _**surgical**_ knot?"

"Two-oh plain catgut. The same suture we found in Diana Sterling."

"Two-oh plain catgut? Sounds like a – a brand name or something."

"Not a brand name" said Tierney, "Catgut is a type of surgical thread made from intestines of cows or sheep."

"And where would he get this catgut suture?" Rizzoli looked at Moore. "Did you trace a source for Sterling?"

"Its almost impossible to identify a specific source, they are manufactured by a dozen different companies, most of them in Asia. Its still used in a number of foreign hospitals."

"Only foreign hospitals?"

"There are now better alternatives. Catgut doesn't have the strength or the durability of a synthetic sutures. I doubt many surgeons in the US are currently using it." Tierney said.

"Why would the unsub use all that?"

"To maintain his visual field. To control the bleeding long enough so he can see what he's doing. Our unsub is a very neat man"

"How skilful is he? Are we dealing with a doctor? Or a butcher?"

"Clearly he has anatomical knowledge. I have no doubt he has done this before."

Moore turned, startled, as the instruments clattered on the metal tray. The morgue attendant had pushed the tray next to Dr. Tierne, in preparation of the Y Incision. Now the attendant leaned forward as stared into the abdominal wound.

"So what happens to it?" he asked "Once he has whacked out the uterus, what does he do with it?"

"We don't know," said Tierney. "The organs have never been found."

**TBC**


End file.
